


Fear No Fate

by denorios



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denorios/pseuds/denorios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of healing for Vin in the wake of 'Sins of the Past'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear No Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Awesome beta is awesome, as always - farad, I wouldn't be able to do this without you!

When Vin thinks about Tascosa, when he allows himself to think about that insignificant little town, about the dusty streets and the endless arid plains that surround it, he's always alone. In his mind he sees again the faces of the townsfolk, pinched and weather-beaten and hostile. He sees a wanted poster with his face and an empty space at his side, and he doesn't let himself hope that Chris will be there to fill it.

In his dream he stands on the gallows, rope tight and rough around his neck, and the sudden jerk as he falls wakes him with a gasp. His hands scrabble to pull nothing from his throat, and he has to remind himself to breathe, that he can breathe.

The horror of it stays with him throughout the day - the drop and sudden choke, the slow strangling, the creeping blackness that steals his sight and blurs his mind - and he retreats into himself, hat pulled low to hide his eyes, mouth a sharp white line in his face. When Chris slants a troubled gaze in his direction Vin turns his head, pretends not to see. He takes the late patrol and doesn't wake Buck to relieve him, greets Josiah at dawn with fresh coffee and a nod, and rides into the hills.

Vin feels Josiah's watchful eyes lingering on his back long after he's disappeared from view, hears the gentle "peace be with you, brother" echoing in his ears for miles, and he knows that it won't take long for Chris to set out after him. Their concern warms him, but concern can be a trap. He's never taken well to being caged, even with kindness, even when it's his own hands turning the key.

He halts Peso for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the path behind him. He could leave a false trail, conceal his tracks; he could double back and wait for Chris to pass him, close enough to touch and yet invisible even with the sun at its height. Chris is sharp enough but he's no Indian tracker: he could ride for a month and never find Vin, not if he doesn't want to be found.

Vin doesn't often let himself think about what he wants. Wanting has always seemed to him to be for those who have the luxury of choice. He's learned to be content with what he can see and feel, the ground beneath his feet, the sky above his head and his horse at his side. The idea of home is something unknown and alien, friends a blessing he scarcely believes he deserves. To want more seems to be tempting fate to take away what little he has.

That he does want more is something he cannot help. He wants much more. He wants Chris, and sometimes the force of it is so strong it leaves him breathless and shaken. There are times when Chris stands resolute in the sunlight, feet planted strong and solid in the dirt, green eyes so righteous and determined, and Vin knows he would follow him anywhere, to the gallows and beyond. For Chris. Only for Chris.

It's not sexual, not entirely. It would be easier if it was. A quick tug and jerk behind the livery stables, a surreptitious fumble by the fire - it's not unusual, not unheard-of. If all Vin wants to possess is Chris' body it would be easy enough. He's seen the dark gleam in Chris' eye on quiet nights, the way his gaze lingers on hips and cheekbones and the curve of Vin's back. Vin is not a vain man, can spend days only seeing his reflection in still waters and his shadow on the ground, but he knows he could have Chris. But it would be meaningless, empty, and he wants - that word again - more.

Vin waits. He knows in his heart he will always wait for Chris. There are days when the urge to run is strong inside him, when the wind calls and the walls of Four Corners seem to tower above him, and it's the greatest effort of his life to remain still and silent, to lean and smile and fight and shoot. The only thing that keeps him rooted is the knowledge that there's nowhere he can run to escape this, that it's the wanting he needs to flee, not Chris, and he'll carry that with him wherever he goes.

If he owns anything in life, it is this wanting. If all else were to be stripped away, bent and broken and torn, his life twisted into something unrecognizable, he would know himself by knowing Chris. He has become Vin's sign-post, his way-station, the point from which all else flows. Life before Chris has faded into something hazy and distant, and he shrinks from the thought of life after Chris. There is no life after Chris.

***

Chris is scarcely an hour behind him. Josiah must have gone to him almost before Vin was out of sight. He idly muses on what they must have thought - that he was running? Has Chris come to bring him back or to ride with him? He offered once. Vin hasn't raised the issue since. He isn't sure he wants to know what Chris' answer would be.

Vin sees him long before Chris has any inkling that he's being watched, sees the dust thrown up by Pony's hooves and the dark shape silhouetted against the rising sun. Whenever he closes his eyes, whenever he calls the image of Chris to mind, he cannot help but think of the sun. Blinding to look at, hot and dangerous, the source of life and light, shrouded in black and lost in the cold emptiness.

When Vin opens his eyes he falls all over again.

It isn't often that he has the opportunity to watch Chris unobserved, to take his time mapping hair and eyes, cheekbones, smile, broad shoulders, slender waist, long legs. His fingers itch to trace the path his eyes move along, to draw suns and circles on the pale skin beneath the black cloth, to lay his hands over Chris' heart and feel it beating steady and strong. He wants to bring Chris to life with hands and lips and tongue, to cast aside the black and the darkness that envelops him, and bring him blinking into his own light.

He wonders what Chris would say if Vin told him he was beautiful.

Vin melts in rock and shadow, not a breath or movement to betray him. Chris is close enough now that Vin can hear the creak of saddle leather, the small jingle of silver spurs, can smell the sweat of man and horse, and for a moment he wavers. It would be easy to remain motionless, let Chris ride on by. Chris would search for him, but for how long? A day, a week, a month? Not forever; there's no such thing as forever for men like them.

He imagines their positions reversed, imagines riding unknowing past Chris. He sees Chris lost in his own pain, hidden from the world, from Vin, and the sudden pang of hurt sticks in his throat and makes his words strangled and hoarse.

"Lookin' for somethin', cowboy?"

Chris jerks in surprise, head swinging around to pinpoint Vin's voice. His momentary unease transmits to Pony and the gelding prances on the spot, fighting Chris and the reins.

Vin shifts a foot, reforms himself from earth and sky and rock, and man and horse relax. His lips tug in an involuntary smile as he sees Chris' eyes sharpen and focus on him. It comes so naturally to Vin that he's always amused by Chris' reaction, always somewhat surprised when his gaze skips across Vin without seeing him. He could never fail to see Chris.

Chris grins. "Not anymore."

***

They ride in silence, Chris following Vin's lead, lagging just a few paces behind as though to keep him firmly in sight. Every so often he spurs Pony on and catches up to Vin, riding close enough that their legs brush and rub, before falling back again. Once he lifts his hand as though to lay it on Vin's shoulder, but the movement dies before it's barely begun and he drops his hand to Vin's knee instead, grips it briefly.

Vin likes to keep him in the corner of his eye, a black shape that forms into Chris as soon as he turns his head just so. He likes to hear Pony's soft huffs and the occasional cough from Chris as he clears the dust from his throat. Vin thought he rode out needing silence and solitude, but perhaps what he really needed to know was if Chris would follow.

The sun is almost at its height now, and the air is burnished and hot. The haze on the horizon distorts vision, and Vin has to check himself more than once, attention caught and held by the shimmering dance. The horses need water and shade, and Vin knows he needs rest as well - he hasn't slept in two days and he can feel himself weaving in the saddle, lulled by the gentle rocking of Peso's steady gait.

There's a place he knows, a quiet spot, secluded, well-hidden by a thick fringe of pine trees, with a deep pool fed by a spring that runs off the hills. Overhanging one end of the pool is a flat rock warmed by the afternoon sun, wide enough for two, although Vin has never brought anyone before. He's thought about bringing Chris many times, but he could never find the words that would explain away the intimacy of it.

When he thinks about Chris lying naked on that rock, skin gleaming golden in the dying light, as lean and relaxed as a mountain lion basking in the sun, he can't suppress the shiver that runs through him. Chris rides up alongside him again, head tilted in a question, and Vin shakes his head and smiles feebly. "I'm fine," he says. He can see from Chris' face that he doesn't believe him, but he says nothing and Vin is grateful.

He's nearly asleep in the saddle by the time they reach the hollow, and Chris is riding as close alongside him as he can without sharing the saddle, one hand propped on Vin's back keeping him upright and stable. When Peso slows to a halt Vin lifts his head and blinks stupidly at Chris. His voice is thick with trail dust and fatigue as he slurs, "We here?"

Chris grins as he reaches up to help Vin from the saddle, only staggering slightly as Vin's full weight slumps against him. They stand for a moment, Vin's face pressed into Chris' neck, Chris' arms wound tightly around Vin's waist, and Chris laughs. "Damned if I even know where 'here' is, but I guess we're there."

"M'tired," Vin murmurs, his voice muffled by Chris' skin. He could sleep here, soothed by the steady rhythm of Chris' heart beating beneath his ear, nose filled with the scent of whiskey, tobacco and sandalwood, an indefinable scent, something utterly distinctive that says 'Chris' and 'home' and 'safe' as loud as a shout.

"I know," Chris whispers.

Vin is asleep almost as soon as Chris lowers him gently to the ground. He doesn't stir as Chris lays out their bedrolls, scarcely resists as Chris rolls him carefully onto the padded fabric, and if Vin is aware that he turns his face into Chris' palm as he smoothes the tousled hair back from Vin's forehead he shows no sign of it.

***

He wakes with a scream caught in his throat, and he coughs and chokes until his eyes stream tears. Chris is half-crouched over him, eyes bright with concern, one hand on Vin's chest and the other hovering above his head as though not daring to touch. The question is clear on his face, but Vin knows he won't give voice to it. Sometimes he wonders if Chris sees him as some kind of wild animal in need of gentling, poised in the breath between fight and flight, his movements are so slow and deliberate.

The sun has shifted in the sky, the fierce heat of earlier gentling into balmy warmth, but Vin's back is cold and wet with sweat and he can't stop shivering. He curls up on his side, breath coming in hitching hiccupping sobs. Wisps of the dream still drift before his closed eyes and the only thing that feels real enough to hold onto is Chris' hand settling in his hair, easing gently through the tangled curls with a tenderness that he can scarcely associate with Chris.

He focuses on that, Chris' hand in his hair, the nearness and warmth of him, the sound of Chris' soft breaths, until his own breathing steadies into something approaching normal. When he feels a scuff of dirt against his hand he opens his eyes to see Chris settling on the bedroll next to Vin, stretched out on his side, cheek propped in his palm, dark eyes fixed on Vin's face.

"I dreamed they was hangin' me," Vin says softly, feeling anew that awful choking sensation. "They was hangin' me, and I was scared." Chris blinks once, twice, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows hard.

Vin shakes his head, eyes hazy and lost in the dream. "You weren't there, and I..." His voice fades and trails away, and Chris has to lean in to hear the almost-silent, "I wanted you."

Vin doesn't realize he's rubbing his throat until he feels the slide of Chris' skin against his as he takes Vin's hand and pulls it away. "I'm here," Chris murmurs, and he strokes the reddened skin in the shadow of Vin's jaw, a slow caress, each touch soft as the whispered words from his mouth.

Vin has seen Chris like this before, with a skittish half-broken colt, all gentle words and soft encouragement, light touches, and just enough space to give him a choice. As though Vin ever had a choice.

He tilts his head back, baring his neck to Chris' touch. He's never felt safer or more vulnerable. Half the time he can't even put words to the feelings Chris evokes in his breast - he seems to spend his life torn between the urge to run either from or to him, but one way or the other it always comes back to Chris, and he's not running now.

Chris lays his hand along Vin's cheek, thumb cradling his chin and long slender fingers just brushing his hairline. Chris has always been tactile, always illustrated his words with a hand on Vin's shoulder, his back, his arm, small casual touches that only serve to send sparks along Vin's skin and make him quiver and shake. But Chris has never been so close before, and Vin can't hide from him this time.

"Look at me, Vin," Chris says, and Vin does.

He looks past his own feelings and sees Chris, sees the dark circles under his eyes, the tired lines in his face, the downward curve of his mouth. He looks in Chris' eyes and sees guilt and shame, and lurking behind and above it all, he sees fear.

"I dreamed the same thing," Chris whispers, his eyes slipping closed as he rests his forehead against Vin's.

Vin can only stare, overwhelmed by the nearness of him. He wishes he could freeze this moment, bottle the memory and preserve it somehow, so that when he lies cold and alone in his wagon, thinking of Chris, it will always be there at the fore in his mind, as fresh and as real as ever.

"I couldn't get to you," Chris continues, face twisting in pain at the memory. "I tried, and I couldn't. And when Josiah said you'd gone I was afraid that..."

"I weren't runnin'," Vin insists. "You know I wouldn't leave without sayin' goodbye. To the boys and..." He stops, biting back the words before he says something he might regret, before he reveals too much of himself to Chris.

"Me?" There's a strange note in Chris' voice, disappointed and yet almost hopeful at the same time, and he pulls back slightly, just far enough to see Vin without going cross-eyed. He smiles suddenly, not his usual shit-eating grin but a slow sweet smile that makes Vin wish he'd known Chris ten years ago, before life and loss wore him down and made him hard.

"You don't ever have to say goodbye to me."

Chris' eyes are soft and thoughtful as he regards Vin steadily. Vin doesn't dare hope that the words mean what he wants them to. He wants Chris to ride with him; he wants Chris to be with him; he wants Chris in every way it's possible to want; but he can't let himself believe that Chris might want the same thing. He can't let himself hope.

Chris curls his fingers and trails them lazily down Vin's cheek, and Vin can't help himself, can't help turning his face into the caress. Chris' fingers graze against Vin's lips and he pauses, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Vin's, before sweeping his thumb deliberately across Vin's bottom lip.

Vin's lips part and he lets out a slow shuddering breath. He's laying himself wide open right now, and he can't stop himself. If this is where everything is going to change, then it's going to happen, because he can't hide from Chris, he can't hold back, and he's not sure he wants to anymore.

It's as though, once his decision has been made, Chris can't hold back either. He presses into Vin, tangling his fists into his shirt and pushing him onto his back. His breath is warm against Vin's cheek as he feathers his lips over Vin's, once, twice, three times, each touch little more than a ghost of a kiss, until Vin curls his palm around the nape of Chris' neck and holds him in place. He feels Chris' lips curve in a smile against his mouth, feels him lick at Vin's lips until he opens his mouth to Chris, until he opens his mouth and lets Chris in as he's let him into his life, into his heart, into his very being.

Vin has imagined this moment so many times that it almost doesn't feel real. It can't be Chris lying hard against him; it can't be Chris' legs entwined with his own, Chris' hands combing gently through his hair, Chris' lips soft and insistent against his, Chris' tongue in his mouth stroking along his own, tracing a path behind his teeth, staking ownership, taking possession.

He lifts both hands to Chris' head to hold him steady, tilts his head to deepen the kiss. He's never understood before how intoxicating a simple kiss can be. He feels as though he's falling, even though he can feel the ground hard beneath him, as though the world is dissolving tree by tree, rock by rock, until that's left is him and Chris and this kiss.

He moans into Chris' mouth, a faint incoherent cry that could be anything from Chris' name to 'more' or 'yes', and Chris lifts his head, smiling. His lips are wet and his eyes are shining and he's never been more beautiful to Vin than in this moment. He feels the breath catch in his throat and he can only stare helplessly at Chris. There are a thousand words swarming in his head, a thousand things he wants to tell Chris, but his voice fails him.

Chris rolls back onto his back, chest heaving, and Vin has to stop himself reaching for him again. He feels cold without Chris draped over him. He can still feel Chris' lips on his like a memory, and his tongue passes across his bottom lip, as though he can taste traces of Chris there.

Chris turns his head, catches Vin tasting his lips, and grins quickly, leaning in to kiss him again.

Vin is amazed at how quickly his body has learned to recognize Chris' touch, how his blood surges at the feel of him, how something that not ten minutes ago seemed an impossible dream has become almost familiar. He knows now that he can never have enough of this man, can never know him intimately enough, can never tire of looking at him, watching him, hearing him, feeling him. He's never understood before how a body can hunger for the touch of another so desperately that it seems more important than food or water or shelter or warmth. He would gladly sacrifice any one of those things, any of them, all of them, for one more kiss from Chris' lips, one more touch, one more caress.

Chris pulls Vin into him, guiding his head down to rest on his shoulder. One arm curls around his waist and the other remains in his hair. Chris seems to love Vin's hair, matted and dirty from the dust as it is. Vin never knew his scalp was so sensitive; he feels like purring with every stroke, and he nuzzles his face into Chris' neck. His tongue flits out to taste the skin at the base of his throat, and when he feels Chris' pulse jump beneath his cheek he smiles.

Even though the blood is singing in his veins and his skin feels like it's aflame everywhere he touches Chris, he can't help yawning suddenly. He's not sure how much he slept before the nightmare woke him, an hour or two at most, and the warmth of the sun and Chris' heartbeat beneath his ear are lulling him back to sleep.

He doesn't want to sleep. He's not sure what he's more afraid of, that the nightmare will come upon him again, or that perhaps he'll wake and find that this was the dream.

He fights it for a moment, but he's overtaken by another enormous yawn. Beneath his cheek he can feel the vibration in Chris' chest as he laughs quietly. "It's okay," he murmurs in Vin's ear, and Vin can hear the smile in his voice. "Sleep. I'll be here."

***

When he wakes again, the sun is sinking behind a bank of clouds and the sky is aflame, tinting the tops of the pines the color of fresh blood. He's alone on the bedroll, and the sky unnerves him. He twists his head to look for Chris, taking in the banked campfire, the horses standing hobbled and quiet beside a tall alfalfa bush, the two skinned rabbits pinned on a spit over the fire.

There's a liquid sound from the pool, small splashes like the sound of water escaping from cupped hands, and Vin sits up and then freezes, transfixed by what he sees.

Chris is in the pool up to his waist, naked, his back to Vin. He cups water in his hands and pours it over his head. Vin watches the rivulets trailing down Chris' back, the slow play of muscles beneath his skin. He can't help imagining following the water with his tongue, tasting Chris and the fresh clean water together. His mouth goes dry and he makes a small inarticulate wanting sound at the back of his throat.

Chris can't have heard it, can't have heard Vin wake and stir, but he turns his head and looks straight at him. They regard each other steadily, words and thoughts and feelings tumbling silently in the air between them, and then Chris holds out a hand and waits.

Vin sheds his clothes quickly, never taking his eyes off Chris. His limbs feel heavy and slow, as though he's moving through a dream, and he almost turns to look back at the bedroll, half-certain he'll see himself lying there. If he is dreaming, then it's a certainly an improvement on hanging.

His cock sways against his thigh as he walks to the water, but he feels no shame, no embarrassment. Chris' eyes flicker downwards, heavy-lidded and appraising, and he smiles and licks his lips slowly, sensuously. His hand is still held out to Vin, and Vin hesitates for the smallest of moments. It's not just here, it's not just now, and both of them know it. There can be no going back from this place, only forwards.

Vin takes Chris' hand.

Chris pulls him forwards by hand and hip until Vin is pressed along his full length, chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh. His sun-warmed skin is wet and slick from the water and Vin's hands slide easily along it as he strokes a path from Chris' shoulders, down his sides and along his hips, down his flanks to his thighs and cock, cool and limp beneath the surface, and back up again, shedding sparkling drops of water as he goes.

He wants to know every inch of Chris, every freckle and hair, the crook of his elbow, the arch of his back, the color of the skin at the nape of his neck, the shadow of his jaw. He wants to map him in his mind, so that he can never forget this sight, this moment.

He trails his fingers across Chris' shoulders, dropping light kisses along the way, shifting around behind him and resting his forehead between Chris' shoulder blades. Chris stands motionless, only flinching slightly when Vin's fingers pass over a ticklish spot. His reaction delights Vin, and he does it again, curling his fingers and drawing a stifled laugh from Chris.

Vin stills for a moment, palms curled over Chris' shoulders, struck dumb with wonderment. In all his imaginings he could never have foreseen this - Chris Larabee standing pliant and patient beneath his hands, his naked body wet and glistening and begging for Vin's touch. That Vin can touch, that he is free to lay hands and kisses wherever he pleases, seems like a gift so great he can only bow his head against Chris' back and thank whichever Spirits watch over them.

Chris twists his head, lifting one hand to wrap around Vin's neck and pull his head around for a kiss. Vin goes gladly, willingly, sighing his pleasure into Chris' mouth as he nibbles at Vin's lower lip, swiping his tongue across to soothe the sting. Vin wraps one arm around Chris' waist, lifting the other to tangle in Chris' wet hair and tilt his head to the side. He nuzzles at Chris' ear, licking a path along the corded muscle that stands out under the skin, pressing a kiss at the place where his pulse beats, visibly speeding up at Vin alternates kisses with soft bites.

"Vin," Chris sighs, and the sound sends a shiver through Vin that has nothing to do with the coolness of the water or the slight chill of the evening air. He moves back to face Chris, hands dropping to curl around his hipbones. Chris lifts his wet hands to cradle Vin's face, water sliding down Vin's cheeks like tears.

"My Pa was a preacher, did you know that?"

It's the last thing Vin was expecting to hear and he frowns, attention torn between Chris' words and the feel of his hands on his skin.

Chris looks at Vin quizzically, waiting for an answer. One hand moves to card through Vin's hair, down his jaw and up the back of his neck, tangling in the soft damp curls at the nape. Vin is so lost in the sensation that it takes him a moment to respond, and when he does his voice sounds slurred and faint.

"Explains a lot."

"I learned a lot from him," Chris continues, his voice somewhat unsteady now, wobbling noticeably when Vin leans in to lap at a bead of sweat slowly sliding down Chris' neck, "and I ignored a hell of a lot more."

Vin huffs a laugh to himself, and even though he can't see it he can feel Chris smiling. He's never known Chris to smile so much before, and the thought that it's because of him, that perhaps Chris is even happy because of him, is enough to make him suck in a breath, suddenly thankful that Chris can't see his face.

"I'm no Bible man, you know that," Chris says, and his hand stills in Vin's hair. "But I do remember a few bits. One of 'em always stuck with me, and whenever I think of it I always think of you. You know the Bible at all, Vin?"

Vin shakes his head. Chris' hand drops to the base of Vin's neck and urges his head up, and Vin goes willing, twisting his neck to look up at Chris. His face is open and earnest in a way Vin has never seen before, and Vin thinks that perhaps if he looks hard enough he can see all the way into Chris' soul. He never learned his alphabet, never learned letters or numbers, but he knows how to read Chris.

Chris' throat works as he swallows hard, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse and deep and rough with emotion. "'Entreat me not to leave thee", he whispers, "or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.'"

"Chris-" The word is torn from Vin's throat like a cry, but his voice is so thready he can barely hear it. He reaches up to touch Chris' face but Chris catches his hand in mid-motion and brings it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss into Vin's palm like a promise.

"I mean it, Vin. You won't ever have to say goodbye to me."

And perhaps it is a promise, Vin thinks. He doesn't know the Bible, never had much time for the white man's religion. He grew up with the people, seeing the Spirits in the land and sky – and although he'll never admit it to Josiah, he sees his church as a cage and can't understand why any god would trap himself inside.

But he wishes he had words to bind himself to Chris in the same way, to give him words and a promise he can hold onto. He made his own vow long ago, but it was silent and solitary and he has nothing to offer Chris. The people have their own vows, ceremonies of committment and connection, but Vin doesn't know the words for what Chris is to him - friend, brother, partner, lover.

Vin closes his eyes. He lifts his hands, laying the fingertips on Chris' forehead and drawing them down slowly, following every line and curve, every hollow and bump. He feels the flutter of Chris' eyelashes, the flare of his nostrils, the moist dampness of his breath when his lips part at Vin's touch. He repeats the movement, fingers tracing across Chris' face until he feels he could draw him blindfolded, until he could sketch Chris' face in the sky.

When he opens his eyes Chris is watching him, and the expression on his face is like nothing Vin has ever seen before - like Vin is everything beautiful and precious in the world and Chris can't breathe for the sight.

"Yes," Vin says simply, and Chris smiles.

***

In his dream he sees Tascosa. The wind carries the dust into his eyes as he stands on the gallows and his lips are dry and cracked. He can hear the creak of the wood and the dry flutter of the wanted posters. There are people below him, hushed and anonymous, and he can't find the one face he's looking for. He bows his head wearily, too tired to even cry out.

There's a whisper, too quiet to be heard above the wind, a sense more than a sound, but he lifts his head.

Chris is beside him. His hands are gentle as he lifts the noose from Vin's neck, his lips are soft as he kisses him, and when Vin opens his eyes the night sky is bright with stars and Chris' arms are around him. He's sated and safe and more alive than he's ever been.

He closes his eyes and dreams of Chris.


End file.
